From Want to Need
by a certain slant of light
Summary: As the party closes in on their attack on Vayne, a near death experience awakens Ashe to a desire she never knew was there. “To his coy mistress dost he run, who stirs the broth and broils fun.” [BaschAshe]
1. Rat's Lair

**Author's Note:** So, I thought this up earlier and had to write it out. It will be one of the only two multi-chaptered stories I'm submitting for a while (both pertaining to Final Fantasy XII, the other is a Balthier/OC (check my profile for details)), and, of course, it's Bashe! Which I just adore. So, yeah, it'll be completed routinely bi-weekly via one chapter installments on every Tuesday and Friday. Glad you're here and I hope you enjoy the ride!

**By the By:** This is slightly AU (only in the overall progression of events) due to the fact that I'm only halfway through the game right now. So if something's amiss, just disregard it.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy XII nor any of its corresponding characters, settings, etc. **This applies to all current and upcoming chapteres.** I only own the slow decline of madness that I've found myself in from writing a 12,000 word story in a single evening.

* * *

"Rat's Lair"

The soles of Ashe's shoes slopped silently along the cobblestones of the Garamsythe Waterway. The like noises of Basch's boots dictated his presence directly behind her. Sword drawn, she weaved through the labyrinthine mess of platforms and walkways as if she had been there hundreds of times prior.

"How do you think the others are faring?" Ashe ventured to ask.

"I'm sure they're doing very well," he assured her, knuckles flexing around the hilt of his axe. "I've been told Vaan has done this before."

Ashe nodded. "The night of the fete. It was foolish to think they wouldn't be expecting an attack by the resistance."

Basch said nothing, but cleared his throat and changed the subject. "How did you acquire a contact in the consul's palace?"

She shrugged. "After Archadia claimed Rabanastre, the servants of the palace were permitted to continue working there. Plenty of them accepted, and also became spies for the resistance. We've had an ear on the goings-on ever since. However, the tradeoff is that they're not allowed to leave the palace. In order to get the map, we have to go to them."

Basch understood, remembering the purpose of their endeavor: to sneak into the servants' quarters within the palace and acquire a map for the resistance. Ashe's voice interrupted his redundant train of thought. "Usually, we'd be able to communicate and transport scripts by carrier birds, but the consul's placed a strict order on that recently." She smirked. "I believe he's becoming uneasy."

"I can hardly blame him," Basch muttered. They rounded a corner, stepping into the darkness for a moment with but the sound of their boots on the damp ground and the occasional screech of a bat to accompany them. Stepping back into the dim firelight, they stopped cold. Before them stood a company of imperial guards.

"Ah, Princess Ashe," a voice as smooth as black marble cooed from behind the congregation. "You never cease, do you?"

Ashe's teeth gritted as she held her sword in front of her, planting her feet squarely and preparing for a confrontation. "To think, you honor me again with your presence, Vayne."

The dark-haired man stepped through the assembly of armored men, demeanor coolly relaxed. His eyes sparkled with menace. "Come to pay your respects to your consul?"

To Basch's surprise, Ashe spat at his feet. Vayne glanced distastefully at the toe of his shoe. "Hardly," she retorted.

The consul chuckled. "I see." Waving a hand, the handful of guards on either side of him kneeled, revealing yet more behind them with drawn bows and steady firearms. Whirling around, Ashe and her companion were faced with another small company of guards, each wielding glaives, crossbows, and guns. Despite herself, Ashe winced.

For a moment, the only sounds filling the air were the metallic clank of armor against armor, and the click of pistols' safeties being switched off. Again, Vayne's deep snicker broke through the silence. "Now, this is familiar."

Ashe prepared to lunge at him, but Vayne was suddenly guarded by another faceless man in heavy armor. "Coward!" she cursed. "Fight me yourself!"

"I think, considering your position, your wisest move would be to put down your weapons," Vayne drawled, ignoring her.

Ashe's eyes narrowed, and she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Basch. "He's right," the captain told her. "We've no other choice."

Knuckles white with fury, Ashe slowly knelt and placed her sword on the ground at her feet, watching Basch do the same from the corner of her eye. Vayne laughed again, and Ashe felt that if she was forced to endure that vile noise one more time, she would snap. "Remind me to never overerestimate you, princess."

Ashe glared but said nothing. Giving a curt nod, Vayne motioned for the guards to overtake them. Both Ashe's and Basch's arms were quickly seized by imperials, and she was forced to kneel. Vayne approached, looming over her. "As I recall, the last time we had you on an imperial ship, it exploded."

"What of it?" she spat.

He sniggered again, a noise that to her was like nails grating cobblestones. "Twice we've tried to capture you, and twice you've eluded us. I see no point in delaying your punishment for Nalbina any longer."

Ashe was about to reply when she felt a fist impacted squarely in her abdomen, expelling her oxygen. She coughed for a moment, completely surprised. Behind her, she could hear Basch struggling and cursing Vayne's name. Ignoring him, Vayne brought another punch to Ashe's stomach, and another, and another. After a short while, he paused, observing his fingers. "You know, I don't normally like to sully my hands with such degrading work." He looked at her, eyes dancing wickedly. "But for you, I would gladly make an exception."

"Imperialist swine!" she yelled, before she felt his knee lodge itself between her ribs. A loud crack resounded, and she bit her tongue until it bled simply to spare him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. Blinking and biting back painful tears, she only allowed herself to wince as he continued, lying blows to stomach and face. The beating seemed to go on for an eternity before Vayne nodded to the guards and they released her. She landed in a crumpled heap, unable to move.

"Bastard!" she distantly heard Basch scream. She supposed that he had been subjected to the whole thing, and absentmindedly wondered exactly how long it had gone on.

"Really," Vayne drawled. "It is almost dirty for a traitor to accuse me of such a thing."

Ashe couldn't see, but she recognized the sound of a sword being unsheathed. She could only stare blankly at the far wall, damp and moldy, as she heard Basch curse him again, before he was interrupted by the sickening sound of metal slicing into flesh. Droplets of blood flew across her field of vision, and the sound of a heavy man collapsing echoed through the passageway.

Seeing only his feet, Ashe observed as Vayne turned to leave. An imperial halted him, asking, "Sir, are we to just leave them here?"

Vayne shrugged. "They'll never be found." The finality of the statement was hollowing, and he turned heel and began coolly wandering off. Obediently, the company of twenty-something guards marched after him in two uniform rows, leaving the former princess and her captain to die among the rats.


	2. Bloodway

**Author's Note:** Okay, I really feel the need to say this: I am _exceptionally_ proud of the line "voice smooth as black marble" in the last chapter. So much so that I can't even put it to words. I'm not even sure why, I just adore it and feel the need to give myself a pat on the back. That being said, here is the second chapter of "From Want to Need", and again I'll say that this story is updated every Tuesday and Friday! Think you can't wait? You're not alone, because neither than I. It's not even an hour into Tuesday, and I'm already submitting it! O, how I loathe the waiting game. Happy New Years, everyone, and cheers to not being hungover!

* * *

"Bloodway" 

Ashe was not sure how long it had been until she found the strength to speak. Her voice was hoarse and she felt like vomiting from the stagnant flavor of blood coating her tongue. "Basch?" she called.

She heard a groan not far from her and, despite her shrieking muscles, pushed herself onto her forearms. Her head felt heavy, her cheek cold from resting against the waterway's floor. Heaving herself up, she slowly turned around to see the former captain lying on his back, a wide crimson gash spreading from one shoulder to the other. Blood seeped and oozed from the wound, staining his clothes and pooling around his body. His face was contorted in anguish.

Mouth open in a silent scream, Ashe managed to crawl towards him, occasionally hunching over to cough up blood. Collapsing on top of him with her head on his abdomen, she reached gentle fingers to test the depth of his wound. His body convulsed as a reaction, and she came to the conclusion that it was not as bad as it looked. It would be painful, to be sure, but it would take hours before he would lose enough blood to die. She supposed that had been Vayne's intent: a slow, agonizing death. She felt sickened, and not by the aroma of blood.

"Lady Ashe?" his voice interrupted her thoughts, grating her ears.

Leaning over him, she smiled despite the dreadfulness of the realization that had just dawned upon her. "They won't expect us back for several hours," she told him.

Knowing they'd both be long dead by then, him from blood loss and her from internal bleeding, he nodded grimly. "This is it then."

Blinking back frustrated tears, she said nothing but lay her head against his chest, ignoring the blood. She knew they both had a few hours, but they would probably be unconscious long before that. Knowing she had little chance of escaping the situation alive, she put panic out of her mind and instead concentrated on his heartbeat. It was a steady, heavy drumming that helped beat back the paranoia desperately clinging to her own heart.

For some reason, she was suddenly reminded of her childhood. She remembered being introduced to Basch for the first time when she was six-years-old. He had been twenty-three at the time, and quite handsome. Of course, she supposed that hadn't changed, even with age. She remembered meeting him again multiple times when she went to the training grounds when she was eleven, and then twelve, thirteen, and so on. If it wouldn't have invoked such pain, she would have chuckled at the memory; Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg had been her very first crush.

She remembered the early days of her teens. Despite her no-nonsense personality and regard for rules, she indulged idling away the many boring hours at court with fantasies of wedding the captain. She had imagined the many ways he'd proclaim his love for her, a generous amount of the daydreams being melodramatic damsel-in-distress situations. It was ridiculous, she knew, but at least she had that sense of teenaged normalcy. When she was fifteen, her engagement to Rasler was announced. She never realized it at the time, but with the wedding looming ever closer, she gradually pushed Basch out of her mind, and thus farther away from her. When Rasler did not return from Nalbina, all her girlish fantasies turned to enflamed hatred.

But what did she think of him now? Glancing up at the captain, she could sense his breathing was heavy and strained. Still, despite the blood speckling his lips and the scar stretching languorously across his forehead, even in the dim lighting he had that sense of carved beauty. His features were sharp and stern, but ageless.

She could not hate him anymore. She thought he had killed Rasler, but in reality, Basch had saved him. He had brought his body back to Rabanastre, where he could receive a proper burial and wake attended by all those he loved. If nothing else, Basch allowed her late husband those final anecdotes of respect and affection. In the afterlife, Rasler could at least look on happily, knowing he had been in the presence of those who adored him and whom he in turn adored.

No, she couldn't hate Basch. Not when she was lying on top of him, dying with him. He who had tried to save her husband and failed. He who had tried to save her father and failed. And now, he had who had tried to save her and failed. She suddenly realized that she had no small inkling of what it might feel to be Basch fon Rosenburg, who held duty in such high regard, but whose charges met only death. She knew solely that she did not want him to die a guilty man.

Hesitantly, she raised a hand to his jaw. It was stubbly and sharp, but dulled by the dried blood that presently caked it. Jerking away in surprise, he glanced down to see it was she who had touched him. "Lady Ashe?"

"I forgive you," she told him. "And I thank you."

Basch's eyes widened in surprise, but he said nothing and merely nodded. All at once, from the mere look of relief in his eyes, Ashe felt her long dead crush seep its way into her mind, demanding the attention it was deprived in her gawky teenaged years. It was an odd feeling, but she couldn't help it. Strangely, nor did she want to – if she was going to die there on this night with this man, she would leave no regrets. Had she a more awakened sense of self, she would have questioned if her motives were born out of real emotion or merely the desperation of a death looming yet nearer.

Agonizingly but with resolve, she pulled herself up and further onto him until her chest rested against his and her eyes could meet his own. His look was now one of curiosity and puzzlement. She did not take time to revel in it, but lowered herself until her lips rested against his. Her eyes fluttered closed, while his widened dramatically. Her tongue begged entrance, and she knew she probably tasted like blood but dismissed it.

To her chagrin, he gripped her shoulders and pushed her back. "Your Highness!"

Ignoring him, she trailed kisses from his jaw down to the nape of his neck, enjoying his scent that slipped through the heady stench of blood. Since her nose was clogged with the odor, she could almost disregard it completely. Instead she sought his aroma desperately, and clung to it as her lips continued to make a light path to his collarbone. "Your Highness!" he repeated, sounding scandalized. She was forced to stop when he grasped her shoulders again, despite his pain, and pushed her back gently.

"What?" she asked, irate.

"Please, you aren't well," he told her, voice clouded with empathy.

She suddenly felt like exploding. "Pardon me?"

"You've lost a lot of blood," he informed her, as if she didn't know. "It might affect your judgment."

Aback, Ashe no longer felt as if she was in the Garamsythe Waterway, internal organs betraying her as they slowly seeped away her life force. Rather, she felt like she was a little girl being scolded in court directly in front of everyone attending. "Are you serious?" was all she managed to ask.

Basch said nothing, and in the darkness she could see his cheeks were beet-red. She thought it would have been endearing if she weren't so angry. "Oh, so you assume I'm doing this because I've lost so much blood that it's affecting my mind?" He nodded slowly, and she shoved herself off him in a huff. "Or perhaps I'm just not allowed to have desires of my own?"

"My lady…" he began, but was seized by a spasm of pain. She watched with helpless concern as he brought a hand to his chest, clasping desperately, until all motion stopped but the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

"Basch? Basch!" Ashe called, and motioned to wake him up. Her actions were halted abruptly as she too was claimed by a fit of coughing. Covering her mouth with her hands, she pulled them back to see blood dotting her fingers. She stared in wonderment a moment until the hacking resumed, this time much more violent as blood ran from her mouth and down her chin, staining her clothes and dripping to the ground. She collapsed beside Basch, convulsing with the motion until her head became too clouded to even notice the heavy taste of blood.

The world turned from blue to red to black as Ashelia B'nargin Dalmasca faced her greatest fear: a death filled with regrets.


	3. Body Ache

**Author's Note:** I am such a bad person. I've spent the last three nights role playing _(role playing)_ when I should have been completing "The Genocite Dagger". A pox upon me! (Well, not really.) Also, speaking of other stories I've written, it's shameless product placement time! Not so much, actually. Just if any of you are interested in and action/adventure/romance story by yours truly featuring the roguish sky pirate, you can check out my other Final Fantasy XII chaptered story, "The Genocite Dagger". Yes, there is an original character in it. Don't worry, she doesn't suck. Also, on the horizon from me is another Balthier/Ashe one-shot, and a Larsa/Penelo one-shot. Be seeing you, and thanks again for reading!

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"Body Ache"

Ashe's extremities reeked with pain. She could feel it in her veins, from the top of her head to the tips of fingers, coursing violently throughout her whole body. A steady ache pounded beneath that like a drum, dictating and directing the flow of the pangs. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came. She saw only black, and heard nothing but a constant ringing that sounded like a siren that never ebbed.

After a few minutes in the agonizing din, the pain she felt steadied and regressed to a dull, insistent nag. Her head felt cloudy and ethereal, and a soft feeling hugged her body. Eyes slowly fluttering open, slivers of disturbingly brilliant white light seeped between her lids. The vibrant pinstripes stung and she barely forced herself to keep opening her eyes. When they adjusted to the brightness, she found herself in a familiar room.

"The _Strahl?"_ she whispered, her voice a distasteful croak. Glancing around, the room remaining an amorphous mass of ivory shapes, she felt a familiarity even in the feeling of the blankets. Looking down to see her chest bandaged, she came to the realization that she was, in fact, alive.

Satisfied with the knowledge, she leaned her head back into the pillow, smiled a bit, and drifted back into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Having lost all perception of time, Ashe could only assume she awoke hours later in a daze. Despite the dull ache in her body, no doubt offset by drugs, she noticed how absurdly soft the pillow – usually so stiff – felt. Reveling in the drab cotton blankets, she lay motionless, merely enjoying the simple act of breathing. 

A rasp on the door awoke her from her reverie. Fran did not wait for a reply before entering and shutting the door behind her, a potion in one hand. Looking over, she grinned slightly. "You are awake."

Ashe nodded, and voiced her question. "How long have I been asleep for?" The sound of her own voice was ghastly, having been reduced to an arid, hoarse crackle. She suddenly felt how dry her throat was, and became desperate for the potion the viera held in her palm.

"Six days," Fran's heavy accent soothed Ashe, helping to cushion the news. "When we found you, you were nigh dead."

She brought the potion to Ashe and uncapped it, holding it to her lips. She drank gratefully, enjoying every last drop. When she finished, she felt like a baby as Fran wiped her lips, but ignored it. Instead, she asked, "Basch?"

Placing the lid back on the bottle and putting it on the nightstand, Fran replaced Ashe's disheveled sheets. "He is alive and as well as can be expected. He is asleep now, but awoke some hours before you did."

Ashe sighed in relief. "Thank the gods."

"Indeed," Fran echoed. "You are most definitely in their favor."

Ashe smiled and turned the conversation to business. "The mission failed, then?"

The viera shook her head. "Vaan was able to allocate a second route and procured the map without incident. I believe you'll be quite pleased with it."

"A lot of good it shall do," Ashe remarked bitterly. "I'm not in any order to help the resistance for quite a while."

Fran regarded her sympathetically. "With proper rest, you should heal quickly."

"My injuries?" Ashe asked.

"Much internal bleeding," Fran told her, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "As well as two cracked ribs and one broken. Besides that, it was mostly bumps and bruises. However, had we not found you when we did, you'd have had little time left."

"I thank you," Ashe said, and she meant it.

Fran nodded. "Thank Penelo, for it was she who found you." With that, she rose and left the room. Ashe, lying back in her bed and staring at the ceiling, made a mental note to repay her debt to Penelo for both her and Basch's sakes.

"Basch…" she mumbled, suddenly overcome with worry. Fran had said he'd awoken and was well, but she wondered if he remembered what had happened in the waterway. Heat rose to her cheeks at the thought, first of embarrassment, then of anger. Of course she could hardly be angry with him; he was so devoted to duty, and had merely assumed what anyone on his position would. Still, she couldn't help but feel that he sounded condescending.

She knew now that she had acted out of desperation. She wasn't sure exactly why, but she supposed near-death did that to you. Still, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Something about kissing Basch had felt oddly… right, and her fists clenched with the knowledge that he hadn't kissed her back. She knew he had been doing the proper thing, not taking advantage of her. But it wouldn't have been taking advantage of her, would it?

Disregarding her frustration, Ashe brought a numb hand to her lips. Running her fingers over them, she knew that they were chapped and dry. Had they been that way when she'd kissed him? She hadn't noticed the texture of his lips either, then. She'd hardly noticed anything, since all her senses were overwhelmed with the presence of blood. Irate, she knew she had wasted that chance.

But she was alive, wasn't she? She could now have a second. For all she knew, Basch was in the next room, resting peacefully. She felt resolve form somewhere within her, demanding she get up from the bed and go find him. What would she do then? Of course she knew: she'd get exactly what it was she wanted. And what she wanted was Basch fon Ronsenburg.

Cursing the heavens, Ashe knew she was in no condition to go gallivanting around in a lustful search for a dying man. Brows furrowed together in irritation, she closed her eyes tightly and realized the pillow now felt just as stiff and rigid as it had before. Calming herself, she came to the conclusion that she'd wait a few days, knowing full well that neither her nor Basch were going anywhere.

Feeling the potion beginning to take effect, a haze slowly crept into the corners of her mind. Eyelids suddenly heavy, she reluctantly let them drift closed, and decided to pay a visit to the captain much, much later.


	4. Chaste Away

**Author's Note:** The title of this chapter is officially one of the world's best puns. Thank you, I love it so much. In other news: I am _very, very angry. _The degenerate idiots in my English class simply do not grasp poetry. While that's entirely forgivable, they also can't pronounce "besmear". They pronounced it "bez-meer". Not once. Not twice. _Four times._ Even after I corrected them! Ugh, for full (and fantastic, trust me, my rants are legendary) rant, visit my Deviant Art account: Pointsetta. That's also where my original writing and poetry is.

* * *

"Chaste Away"

Three days passed by excruciatingly slowly, and Ashe could feel her patience wearing thin. On the fourth day, she felt relatively well and decided to hang the waiting game. Throwing off her covers, she made her way to the bathroom. Washing her face and mouth, she observed herself in the mirror for the first time in a week, and was horrified.

Her eyes, though only slightly bloodshot, were surrounded by large bruises and cuts. Her lips were dry and cracked, and she looked abnormally thin. Her hair was an unruly mess that she knew had seen much better days. "I cannot go to him to him looking like this," she cursed her bedraggled appearance, glancing at the clock. Luckily, it was still only the mid-afternoon. Sighing, she began running a bath and forcing a brush through her knotted hair.

Surfacing from the bathroom many hours later, Ashe was reasonably pleased. She looked much like her former self, with hair that actually obeyed her and lips that she had smoothed through some miracle of hydration. Though she could do nothing about the bruises and cuts, she found that they looked much better when not in the harsh limelight of the restroom. Throwing on a gown folded neatly beside the bed, she corrected the sheets and left.

Taking a look outside the airship windows, she concluded that it was passed nine o'clock. Shrugging, she wound her way down the halls and past the various cabins, some in use and some not. She passed Penelo's, Vaan's, and the ornate mahogany doors that marked the entrance to Balthier's. Fran's was opposite that, and she knew at the end of the hall was Basch's. Stepping lightly so as to not wake anyone, she gently pushed open the captain's door and surreptitiously shut it behind her.

The first thing Ashe noticed was that the light was already on. Curious, she wondered if he was awake. Lying in his bed, eyes closed, her assumption was proven wrong. It suited her better, she decided.

Approaching his bedside, she found him in much better health than he had been when she'd last seen him. He had bathed, and there was no longer any trace of blood to be found on him. His golden hair had been brushed and lay sprawled across the pillow, and she supposed he had gotten up to shave recently, for his jaw only had the faintest shadow of stubble. He was asleep in his bed, shirtless, but his chest was wrapped in a generous amount of white bandages.

Suddenly overcome with resolve, Ashe felt ethereal as she crawled onto the bed, placing her legs on either side of him. Was she really doing this? Was she, in complete seriousness, now looming overtop of a shirtless, unconscious Basch fon Ronsenburg in nothing but a nightgown? But she didn't find it all that surprising. Some aspect of how she had almost died down there with him made something click and connect, and she knew she couldn't stand to waste more time.

Crawling over him, she leaned down and placed a light kiss on his lips. This time, she paid especial attention. They were just how she'd imagined them all those years ago: harsh, dry, yet gentle. She could barely resist a smile as she ran the back of her knuckles along his cheek, letting the stubble tickle and scratch her fingers. Her lips traveled to his jaw, grazing his chin, and then she took the risk of nibbling his ear. She found it quite enjoyable, but preferred the sensation of his lips against hers. She returned to kissing him there and, much to her surprise, felt him return the favor.

As he kissed her back, the contact deepened. She ran her tongue over his bottom lip, begging entrance which he willingly gave. Before she knew it, a gruff hand grasped the back of her neck, delicately pulling her closer. A second ran its way up the length of her thigh, teasing her skin with light touches. It found its way to her behind and squeezed lightly; Ashe moaned in unexpected pleasure and pressed closer to him.

The motion was enough to wake him. Basch's eyes fluttered slowly open, before snapping wide. Shocked and embarrassed, his hands flew away from their perches on her neck and ass, and instead (again) gripped her shoulders and pushed her back. "Your Highness!"

Ashe decided she was getting rather tired of that honorific being uttered from his lips, as well as the familiarity his hands had with her shoulders. "Please, don't call me that."

Sitting up and sliding back in his bed until his back rested against the headboard, he was mortified. "Lady Ashe, I apologize."

"For what?" she wondered, again thoroughly frustrated. "I am the one who awakened you, not the reverse."

"Please, my lady, you must be shaken after what happened. You should return to your room and rest, this was clearly a mistake," he told her, his tone reassuringly stern.

The emotion in his voice only served to anger her. "No, it was not!" she yelled, and he regarded her in stunned silence. "I can assure you that I am perfectly well and have all my wits about me! Of my own accord did I come in here and of my own accord did I do what I did!"

Basch shook his head. "No, I…"

"No?" she interrupted him, her voice incredulous. "Are you to tell me that I didn't do this of my own accord? That perhaps I've had one too many potions and am acting under the influence of drugs? Is that your assumption?"

He seemed remorseful. "No, but it isn't entirely outside the realm of possibility."

Ashe seethed. "Possible it may be, but the one thing it isn't is true."

"Then you…" he began, and she nodded.

"Why is it so hard to believe?" she ranted aloud, but did not wait for a response. Instead, she closed the gap between him and silenced any qualms with another kiss, running a hand through his tousled hair.

He seemed to contemplate returning it before pushing her away again. "Your Majesty, we cannot."

"And why is that?" she fumed.

"Please, I would not take advantage of such a young lady," he started, and was about to continue when she felt her hand fly across his face. His cheek stung from where she had slapped him, and he had barely gathered his wits in time to see her climb off the bed and march indignantly out the door, slamming it behind her.


	5. A Knightly Oath

**Author's Note:** My apologies about the delay. I haven't been home much in the past two days, and whenever I have been, all I've had the energy to do is watch Bleach and then hit the proverbial hay. I'm sorry again, and updates will resume as normal!

* * *

"A Knightly Oath"

The days following the incident passed by with unforeseen normalcy. The group made a stop in Rabanastre where they rested at an inn, outfitting themselves and devising new strategies against the Empire.

Basch fon Ronsenburg, despite his deep embarrassment and utter confusion, was impressed. Princess Ashe treated him with such contained continuity that he had to wonder if their encounters in the waterway and in his cabin had been nothing but dreams. But then he recalled how professional and sensible Ashe was, and knew she was only going about their "relationship" in the acceptable way. Had she treated him any differently than before, he knew the others would pick up on it instantly; Fran and Penelo, at least, had awe-inspiring powers of perception.

Reflecting on the incidents invoked by the princess, Basch was nothing short of shocked. In the Garamsythe Waterway, he had assumed she had been acting out of desperation and disillusionment; there could have been no possibility that she knew what she was doing. He assumed she had merely imagined him to be Rasler – just a fleeting flight of fancy the mind conjures for comfort before death. But then, not even a week prior, she had come into his room and awakened him most… sensually. And to his utter horror, he had responded.

Of course, it came as little surprise that he had done so. Ever since she had blossomed from her awkward, gangly childhood into the strong, capable woman she was now, he had seen her in an entirely different light. Nonetheless, he had endlessly berated himself for it, knowing it was unacceptable and, above all, impossible. He could never bring himself to defile her with his desires. Despite the pain she had endured in the past years, she remained to be the purest woman he had ever known. It would taste a lie to say that it wasn't also because she was to one day become the queen of Dalmasca.

But now, after what had happened, could she truly be held accountable? Surely she had not been acting under her wits that night, but she had claimed she had. Had she purposefully wandered into his room and done such unspeakable things because she had wanted to? He had never pictured her to be one do succumb to the desires of the flesh, but he assumed any woman or man was subject to it.

Perhaps it was due to the encounter in the waterway. He had gone through plenty of near-death experiences before that, one lasting as long as two years. But, thinking on it, Princess Ashe had not. Had something changed in those hours they spent there, dying together?

He remembered who had forced them into the situation. The very thought of her in danger made him sick. Hot memories flashed through his mind like a demented film reel of Vayne looming over her crouched form, impacting blow upon blow on her. He had been helpless, unable to aid her, strapped down by countless imperial guards and made to watch as the consul beat her. He swore to the gods, and to Raminas and Rasler, that he would find Vayne and kill him personally. If not for Dalmasca, then at least for Ashe.

His dedication to her, he knew, was more than what was required. Could he be blamed for it? The kingdom had fallen, so of course he clung to its last possible ruler. He would continue do so until the death and beyond, if need be. But was his devotion more than duty, no matter how great that duty was? Was his lust driving his axe alongside his heart and mind? The thought was degrading, to say the least, to think so little of Ashe as to only note her physical appearance.

But that was not all the fueled his desire. For behind the gorgeous face and perfect body was a strong mind and an even stronger heart. She was no foolhardy damsel who allowed others to do her fighting while she watched. She was in the fray with him, with her friends and comrades, and was ready to defend and fight for her country until the end. She was sensible, responsible, willful, and the most amazing woman he'd ever known. She knew what she wanted and she went for it, accepting and conquering all obstacles in her path until none had the gall to defy her. She would make a great queen.

_And an even better lover,_ a part of his mind told him. He repressed it again, furious and agitated with its insistence on being heeded. He had heard it enough, many times over, ever since they had rescued her on the imperial ship. Had he really fallen so far as to think of her as a lover first and a queen second? No, he would never let himself fall so deeply into selfishness. He had lost his honor, but he had not lost his duty. He would always see her as the heir to Dalmasca first and foremost, if not for his sake then for hers.

For, deep in his heart, Basch knew that a man like him would bring only grief to a woman like her. He could not be the kind, soft lover she had found in Rasler. He could not tell her the things she needed to hear. He could only fight, for that was all he knew. He had fought for Dalmasca and lost. He had fought for Raminas and lost. He had fought for Reks and lost. But a fight with his lust would be one he would not lose. He would win it in her name, for her safety, so that her heart would never again feel pain or loss.

For though he had betrayed Dalmasca, he could never bring himself to betray its queen.


	6. Lukewarm

**Author's Note:** Nyahaha, welcome to my very favorite chapter of this story. I let out a wicked giggle when I realized which one I'd be submitting today. Of course, that was after I realized I was supposed to submit today. I only caught onto it just now, and was like, "Oh yeah, I'm supposed to do something, aren't I?" Updates on me are that I'm currently in love with Beck, and that I'm writing a Shunsui/Nanao story for the Bleach fandom (my other current love). I also got a fictionpress acount (Prynx), but can't submit anything for three days. Rawr!

* * *

"Lukewarm"

Sighing, Ashe slipped into the lukewarm waters of the bath and felt her body relax. Though her ribs still pained her, she found a bath each night helped sooth her muscles and mind. Closing her eyes and letting the fantastic feeling caress her skin, she tried to conjure calming thoughts.

Just as every night before that, the effort proved to be futile. Rather than pleasant memories, the insistent portrait of Basch fon Ronsenburg furtively invaded her mind's eye. She scowled, though unsurprised. Despite the time that had passed, her fists still clenched in anger at his remark.

"I would not take advantage of such a young lady," she imitated beneath her breath, mocking him. The phrase made her want to punch something, anything, just to get her anger out. She was not young! She was nineteen and fairly old enough to make her own decisions, having gone through much and matured far beyond her years. He, of all people, should know that. Yet still he refused her, and she was so frustrated that she had slapped him across the face.

Sitting in the bath, Ashe couldn't help but grin. At first, she had regretted it, but now she felt only satisfaction. Had he intended on being so condescending or not, it didn't matter. She had expressed how she felt on his keen choice of words and that was that. She'd leave him to stew in her reaction for awhile before she approached him again, which she definitely would.

In fact, the frustration she felt when he pushed her away only served to fuel the fires of her lust. The more she could not have him, the more she wanted him. Besides, judging by the initial reaction she received on their last encounter, he wanted her a fair bit too.

She would show him that he wasn't taking advantage. She was a sensible, responsible woman who knew what she was doing. Despite everything, she would know him that age and title didn't matter. That she wasn't just Princess Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca, rightful heir to the throne and leader of the resistance, but that she was also Ashe, a young woman who wanted him.

For a moment, her heart fell, and she hoped Rasler could understand and forgive her. Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she sunk deeper into the bath, splashing her face and wetting her hair. Happy with the night's resolution, she allowed her head to clear and enjoyed the feeling of thinking about absolutely nothing.

A knock on her door broke her unceremoniously from her hard-earned peace. Frustrated, she called, "Who is there?"

The response was a surprise. "It is I," Basch's deep, grating baritone replied.

Biting her lip, Ashe wondered what to do. Should she answer it, only to hear his apology fall on deaf ears? Or should she ignore it and allow him to stew in uncertainty for a little longer? Suddenly, through all the other options, a most devilish answer broke through. Grinning madly, Ashe rose out of the bath and went to the door.

"Are you alone?" she asked, knowing full well that the others had all gone to sleep hours before.

"Yes," he said simply, though he was no doubt confused by her question.

Allowing herself the last remnants of a smirk, she replaced the giddy expression with a calm, collected look. Taking her time, she made a deliberate show of unlocking the door and slowly turning the knob. Opening it just enough for her to be completely visible, she stood there – completely naked.

"Well?" she asked, allowing her tone to be somewhat prudish.

Inside, she chuckled as she watched Basch's mouth open and close several times, searching for a response and finding none. Without shame (or mental recognition by him, she supposed), his eyes traveled up and down her nude body, and she did not permit herself to blush. Instead, she toyed with him by standing there as if nothing was amiss.

Realizing he had been unapologetically giving her multiple once-overs, Basch blushed profusely and turned his back to her. "Lady Ashe!" he stammered, and she resisted giggling. The sight of Basch fon Ronsenburg flustered was not one many got to see in a single lifetime. "I apologize!"

"Whatever for?" she asked, arms crossed, tone one of innocent curiosity.

"You…" again he searched for the proper words, "you aren't clothed."

"Am I not?" Ashe glanced down theatrically. "Oh, so it would seem. Wonderful powers of observation, Captain."

"My apologies, perhaps I should return another time," he managed to say and was about to rush off down the hall.

"I don't see why you should," she said frankly, roguishly willing to prolong his suffering. "Whatever you have to say you may say. My lack of clothing does not impede my ability to hear."

"Perhaps you should dress?" he suggested, and his voice was almost pleading.

"Why?" she reasoned evenly. "What you have seen you have seen, no amount of apologies can revoke that. We may as well just continue on."

"Your Highness, please!"

His tone was so desperate, she very nearly almost felt guilty. "Very well," she sighed and conceded. "Though I don't know what the fuss is about."

Closing her door and receding into her room, she threw on a gown and returned. Basch's back greeted her once again. "I am decent," she informed him.

He turned, his cheeks a deep crimson the likes of which she had never seen. She bit back a victorious grin, and instead looked at him inquisitively. Clearing his throat, he finally felt comfortable enough to talk. "I would merely like to apologize for the other night."

"Apologize for what?" she asked, wanting him to say it outright.

"I am sorry if I embarrassed you," he ventured.

She waved a hand in the air. "I can assure you, it is the furthest thing from my mind. Now, if there is nothing else you'd like to address, I'd like to return to my bath before it gets cold." She ended her sentence there, biting her tongue lest she ask him to join her.

Basch nodded and left down the hall, still in quite a daze. Keeping her cool façade up until the door was tightly shut and locked, Ashe burst into laughter, slipping off her robe and climbing back into the bathtub. "That ought to get a rise out of him."


	7. Godforsaken Normalcy

**Author's Note:** I give you full permission to completely loathe me. I haven't updated for quite some time, and while I could blame it on exams and having to spend more than ten hours a week studying (and I do, partly), the fault also lies with me. Why? Because I've been too damn lazy. I won't lie. But I hope to make it up to you all somehow, someday. In the meantime, updates on both this story and "The Genocite Dagger" will resume as normal until their completion. Enjoy, and please forgive me!

* * *

"Godforsaken Normalcy "

For Basch fon Ronsenburg, the next day passed painstakingly slowly. During many instances, he unwillingly found himself in the company of Princess Ashe and, despite himself, could do nothing but picture her naked. While nothing she did during the day was at all erotic (some things exactly the opposite in fact), her mere entrance into the room was enough to stoke the fires of his imagination. He cursed the gods, and her as well, for inflicting such wonderful torture upon him.

Glancing out the window of his inn room, Basch was entirely grateful that he was able to endure the entire day without saying nary a word. All too happy to be alone and have something solid between him and the princess, he prayed that solitude would be enough to stave off the hormonal madness engulfing him.

He knew now that he had underestimated her. Despite having a less than normal childhood, Ashe had grown into the traditional feminine wiles – and then some. He had little doubt that she had quite intentionally answered the door in that… state only to provoke him. Why did she insist on flirting with danger? A relationship with him, of any kind, could lead only to disaster for them both. Why could she not see that all he did was to protect her?

Now, with the way things were going, he'd not only have to protect her from Vayne, he'd have to protect her from himself, and also from herself. He knew she wasn't a stupid woman – she was merely trying to get what she wanted. He vowed not to succumb to her; no matter how set her mind was, no matter how strong her will was, and no matter how fantastic she looked in the nude. Basch shook his head, irate with his own thoughts yet again.

Long ago, Basch had decided to lead a loveless life. He had the love of his country and the love of his men, and that would be enough. Even though he had lost all that, his resolve remained adamant. He would have no wife, though occasionally he would indulge in the desires of the flesh. He was only a man after all, not a god. He, too, was prone to lust, just as any other man was. But why did he have to lust after Princess Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca, of all women?

Cursing himself again, Basch looked up to see a slip of paper lying beneath his door. Rising from his chair and wandering over to it, he picked it up and unfolded it, reading its contents:

_"Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg ,  
_

_ Meet me in my quarters at two AM this night. We've much to discuss .  
_

_ Sincerely,   
Princess Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca "  
_

Basch groaned. What could she possibly have to talk about? He had apologized and that was that. He had so hoped she would not bring up the incident of the door-answering. If anyone had a right to be angry, it was him! She was the one who came traipsing to the entrance soaking wet and bare as the day she was born, sending him into fantasy overload and subsequent mental torture. Did she really think she would win him over this way?

Still, he could hardly refuse. Looking over the note, he noticed there were no "if you pleases" or "I would appreciate it ifs". This note was not a request, it was an order. Ashe knew that he could not deny an order from her. He crumpled the note in his hand, wondering why, of all princesses, he had to be stuck with the clever one. And why, of all men, did she have to choose him?

Then again, the thought of her choosing any other made his gut wrench. He could not picture her choosing Vaan, he was simply too rambunctious and did not think things through. She would find him beleaguering. The notion of her choosing Balthier, the wily sky pirate and self-proclaimed "leading man", was nearly sickening, mostly for it being ethereally possible. Balthier was, admittedly, quite charming. Basch could rest assured though, for he knew Ashe loathed pirates and brigands. On sheer matter of principle, she would never choose a man like Balthier for a lover.

Reflecting on it, he had to wonder why she chose him. He was gruff, not to mention much older than she. In rank, he was so far beneath her that it was almost laughable that she should think of him the way she apparently did. He was branded a traitor and failed to save her husband, her father and her country. He was not dependable or honorable anymore, and in fact he had fallen so far from grace that the very thought of him being deserving of Ashe's worry or lust was nigh preposterous.

Yet there he was, receiving a note from the princess herself commanding him to come to her quarters in the middle of the night for relatively unspecified reasons. He only hoped she meant what she said: that it would be nothing but banter. Perhaps they could resolve the matter once and for all and forget the sticky business altogether. She could not honestly expect anything to stem from these wanton feelings? Certainly not anything besides sex which, in itself, was an impossibility to him and insult on his principles.

Glancing at the clock, Basch frowned, realizing he had been absorbed in his thoughts for much longer than he'd intended. In fact it was now 1:45 AM, and he had only fifteen gods-given minutes before he'd have to leave and face that dreadful encounter. Would she be angry? Would she mock him? He had to admit he had not blushed in front of anyone for a very long time, and the image of him doing so was probably hilarious in her eyes.

Groaning and standing up, Basch fought his protesting muscles and checked himself in the mirror. Feeling nothing but dread, he bided his time by tidying up his room. Finally, being able to stall no longer, he opened the door and muttered one last accursed word before turning off the lights and leaving: "Women," he hissed.


	8. Here Lies the Apocalypse

**Author's Note:** Before I get _another _review telling me what I already know, let me say that I am aware that the chapters of this story are short. Give me a break, though, I wrote the whole thing in one night. Nevertheless, I don't have time amidgst all my other projects and schoolwork to go back and revise every single chapter. Luckily it's not that long of a fanfic, and so in the future with will and time permitting, I hope to rewrite it and lengthen the chapters to 3,000 to 5,000 words each. In the meantime, please be patient with me and enjoy the story as it is. If I see another review complaining about this, I will know that you did not read the author's note, and that bothers me very, very much.

Despite all, I thank you all for your wonderful reviews and am so happy to be able to come back to a warm reception. Please enjoy!

**Side Note:** If anyone here watches Grenadier, I'd appreciate if they could check out my story, "Bridge Over Tea". It's a short one-shot, but I'd very much appreciate some reviews and feedback. I don't like review-mongering in the author's notes of unrelated stories, but I'd really like to know how I fared with it. Thank you!

* * *

"Here Lies the Apocalypse"

A brisk walk brought Basch to Ashe's door in a matter of seconds, and he loathed the short distance between their rooms. He raised a hand to knock, but the door was ajar before he had the chance, almost as if the mere notion of noise had commanded it open. Wordlessly he entered and it was shut behind him, the familiar click of the lock sounding.

Ashe turned to him, her back rested against the door. He noticed she was wearing a robe, and tried feverishly not to imagine what was (or wasn't) under it. "Good evening," she said simply.

He nodded. "Good evening, your Highness."

"Enough of that," she told him tersely. "You may call me Ashe."

Reluctantly he nodded again. "Very well." He paused. "What is it you would like to discuss?"

"I'd like for you to tell me exactly why we cannot be together," she informed him sternly, crossing the room and taking a seat on her bed. She looked up at him expectantly.

Heaving an inward sigh, Basch saw no way out of the situation. "It is simply improper. I am much older than you, to begin with. Despite age, you are a princess, and I am merely a former knight. I am hardly deserving of your attention or desire. Also, a relationship could endanger not only us, but the entire party. Emotions complicate battle, and with the imminent confrontation between the resistance and Archadia looming ever nearer, luxuries such as those cannot be afforded."

She listened intensely, considering what he had said for a moment. Basch prayed she would heed his reason, but instead she replied, "The age difference is ridiculous. There are girls years younger than me who marry men far older than you, so I disregard that rather blatantly. In regards to ranks, I believe we're equal: without a kingdom to rule, I am hardly a princess, and without a kingdom to defend, you are hardly a knight. We are both citizens of Dalmasca, and that is all. As for emotions complicating battle, do you seriously believe that I would let something as silly as that cloud my judgment?"

"Of course not," Basch replied. "But despite precautions taken, complications may still arise."

"Well, of course they may," Ashe stated frankly. "That's the risk one takes."

"If you pardon the remark, Ashe," he said, "I hardly think it a risk worth taking."

Her eyes narrowed, and he realized with terror that he'd said the wrong thing. "Oh? Is that so? You didn't seem to think so the other night."

"I hardly…"

She cut him off. "Do you honestly think I missed your wandering eyes before you collected yourself? They took quite the stroll while you stood in my doorway, mouth agape."

"Ashe, please," he pleaded, "I hardly think that my fault."

"You're only a man, is that right?" she drawled, voice oozing sarcasm. "I've had quite enough of your excuses, Basch."

"With all due respect, they are not excuses," he protested.

"You deny it?" She stood up, arms crossed. "Or are you simply that dense? I'd thought you much more intelligent than that."

"My intelligence is not what you're after, in all honesty," he muttered harshly.

To his surprise, she chuckled. "That is all too true. I am glad that you at least understand that."

"Still," he continued, "it is very unwise to be involved with me."

She gave him a frank look. "Admit that this has nothing to do with age, propriety, or safety in battle and I may heed you."

"Pardon?"

"Well, it's true, is it not? The reason you so utterly refuse to involve yourself with me is not because you're older than I, nor because of your rank, nor due to your concern for others, and certainly nor due to the fact that you do not want me, for I know that to be untrue. You feel as if you've failed me, isn't that so?"

Basch could say nothing at first, and looked away. "I have."

He heard her release a sharp laugh. "Honestly, you are a narcissistic man."

His eyes shot up. "Excuse me?"

"You really think you've failed me, don't you? You think of all the causes that led to Dalmasca's fall, I would blame everything on you? On one man? You're incredibly self-important, aren't you?" she spat.

"That's hardly the case!" he protested, and she held a hand up to silence him.

"Even if I blamed you once, I have forgiven you. You know that, I told you so in the waterway after Vayne's attack," she said, not amused.

"People say plenty of things when they're about to die," he told her.

Ashe placed her hands on her hips. "Do I look like I am dying right now?"

"No," was all he could say.

"Then heed me now, this moment, this minute in time, and do not dare forget: I, Princess Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca, forgive you, Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg, for any treason you have committed, and I thank you for your efforts in trying to save my husband, my father and my country."

"Despite all earnestness," Basch said, "that does not absolve me of my sins."

She sighed in exasperation. "Then what does? Why are you so passionately walking a path to self-destruction?"

He looked up to see she had come much closer. "I will restore the kingdom and you shall be queen, and that shall be my repentance."

"Hang repentance!" she cursed, thoroughly frustrated. "My patience runs thin and your indecision thinner! I'll not wait for you!"

He nodded and turned to leave. "That is for the best."

"Basch!" she called after him. "Stay."

"It is best I leave," he said frankly, nearing the door.

"Basch fon Ronsenburg of Dalmasca," her tone was dark and willful, "as future queen of Dalmasca I order you to stay."

Basch stopped in his tracks and turned, eyes wide. In an instant, her entire demeanor changed: she stood tall, her shoulders squared and her chin raised. Her eyes were steely and demanding obedience, and she looked every bit like a queen. "Your Highness?"

"I've a question for you," she said, tone icy. "And the only answer I want is either 'yes' or 'no'. No 'buts', no 'wells', and certainly no lengthy explanations of why we should not be together. Understood?"

He nodded. "Yes."

Silence clung to the air, drifting steadily between them and weaving through the thick tendrils of tension that clung to their bodies and minds. Finally, her voice cut through the air, clear as crystal, sharp as a diamond, and twice as valuable: "Do you want me?"


	9. Now I Lay Me Down

**Author's Note:** I know, I know, but I couldn't resist an evil cliffhanger in the last chapter. They're just too much fun! And according to some ultra-uber-Christian survey, I'm going to the eighth level of Hell anyway (yeah, even below tyrants and war-mongers, because my soul is just so _black and empty like that)_, so I might as well have some fun while I'm still livin'. This chapter is quite short, but I felt that any more words would have ruined it. Please enjoy, and now onto the exciting conclusion!

(Seriously, church of God and Jesus and whoever else, I've never even had sex. I think eighth if a little harsh!)

* * *

"Now I Lay Me Down"

Basch cleared his throat, uncertain. Time trickled by, but her gaze remained steady on him, pressuring him for a response. He knew the truth would only lead to disaster, but she'd sense his lie before he even spoke it. After much deliberation, he managed to admit through clenched teeth, "Yes."

To his utter shock, she smiled. Crossing the room and closing the precious distance he had created, his body went stiff as she kissed him lightly and whispered, "Then that is all that need be known."

Feeling dread well up inside him, he said nothing as she took his hand and led him to the bed. Lying back and pulling him on top of her, she nibbled his bottom lip, wrapping an arm around his neck and running a hand over his chest. Basch crawled onto the bed, legs on either side of her hips, mind still clouded with uncertainty. Without warning (and with less effort), she reversed their positions. Basch lay on his back with Ashe on top of him, devilishly straddling his waist, and smiling almost giddily.

Her voice, now a soft purr dripping with sultriness, ripped him from his thoughts. "Do you know what I'm wearing under this robe?" When he said not a word, her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, "You're exactly right: nothing."

As her mouth overcame his own again, Basch forced himself to kiss her back. Though it would be a lie to say he had not imagined this situation dozens of times over in his mind, it was difficult to enjoy it. Still, his hand wandered up her thigh, his other snaking its way around her back. Their tongues met and he reveled momentarily in her taste: it was like cinnamon and grapes, an odd combination that was so delicious coming from her.

Ashe smirked and trailed kisses down his jaw, nipping his ear. Trying to remain calm and collected, she recalled every move she had read in the silly romantic novels of her fourteenth and fifteenth years. She supposed she was going about it in the right way, since she elicited a moan from him not moments later. Grinning madly, she kissed his lips again, pressing her body closer to his and basking in his scent and taste, allowing her senses to be absolutely overwhelmed.

Her nimble fingers traveled downward to the belt at his waist and made slow, deliberate work of undoing it. Successfully unlatching it, her hands wandered over his chest and beneath his shirt, adoring the feeling of firm muscle tensing beneath her fingertips. Her lips wandered down the nape of his neck, enjoying the goose bumps invoked by her mere touch.

"Undo my robe," she told him, her voice low and silky. Basch hesitated, his hands resting where they were. When he did nothing, she gave him an odd look. Lightly kissing him again, she whispered in his ear, "Basch, _please_ undo my robe."

Again, Basch did nothing. Her head against his shoulder, face buried in the nape of his neck, she felt him heave a sigh. "I can't," he told her, sounding regretful.

Ashe's hands stopped their exploration and fell limp on his chest. She did not move, and an awkward silence passed slowly between them. Suddenly, Basch felt her body shake on top of his. A low, muffled sound drifted to his ears – she was laughing. A low, dark, listless laugh that he'd never heard from her before.

She lifted her head, mouth still by his ear. "Gods damn me, Basch," she said, her voice watery, "if you don't know every way to humiliate a woman."

Without another word, Ashe crawled off of him and straightened her robe around her, tying it tight. She did not meet his gaze, but crossed the room and unlocked the door. Opening it, she stood at the entrance, waiting. Basch quickly rose from the bed and wandered over. The act of walking was strenuous, his muscles feeling both loose and tense.

"I am sorry," he told her for lack of anything better to say.

She stared at the far wall, her eyes refusing to meet his. "I'll not bother you again," was all she said.

He meant to apologize again, but knew anything he said would mean little to her. Instead, he nodded grimly and stepped into the hallway, hearing the door shut softly behind him. He stayed outside her closed door, and could hear her lean back against it.

Inside, Ashe took a deep breath, expelling a few malicious chuckles. Suddenly, all the humor in her gone, she sunk to the floor. Feeling her weakest and no longer having the strength to bother hiding it, Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca did what she'd not done in years: she cried.


	10. Cage of Freedom

**Author's Note:** There are some chapters of this story I like and others that I don't. This is one of the ones I don't. The reason for that is that it bums me out, and I'm not a fan of most of the wording. Either way, I hope you enjoy it more than I do!

* * *

"Cage of Freedom"

Weeks had passed since their final encounter and, to the untrained eye, things progressed as usual. Ashe was sure Basch had noticed something amiss, but she knew he'd never confront her. She supposed he felt "undeserving" or some such after what had transpired, but in truth she didn't care what the reason was. She was only too happy to never embarrass herself like that again.

And yet, despite her better judgment, Ashe still wanted him. By now she knew that she wanted him so desperately that she was shamefully close to repeating the last experience. But she concluded the only way he'd accept her was if he were ready, and she was not prepared to wait. For Ashe also knew she would die of old age and a have a tomb twice the size of Raithwall's built to commemorate her before Basch felt deserving.

She couldn't help but think that there wasn't much to deserve. Aside from her title, she was hardly a princess at all. More than anything, she only wished he could see past the crown and discover that she was only a woman. A woman who wanted him, nothing more, nothing less. The fact that after all her hardships and work she should be deprived such a simple thing made her want to scream bloody murder.

Still, she remembered in her youth, her father had told her that great rulers had to make sacrifices. Would this be hers? Sacrifice her happiness, her only desire to fight for a country she may never rule anyway? She was sick of being a princess without a throne. If she were the queen of Dalmasca, that would at least be a half-decent excuse. As it stood, she was just a leader of the resistance with nothing to her name but an ill-refuted title. Would her royalty shadow her all her life? Would it be her only companion? Would it consume her?

Anger no longer raged within her. Nor did lust, or frustration. She felt as if nothing consumed her, as if the finality of Basch's rejection made her hollow. What would become of her? She knew: she would go on to rule Dalmasca and wed some foreign dignitary for the sole purpose of heirs. They would not be lovers but once, and then only friends, if that. She had been fortunate when she was engaged to Rasler, but the gods did not shine so kindly on one twice. Was Basch satisfied with that? To watch her march down the aisle, walking towards a stranger?

Yet that was her fate and she saw no escape. It was for the good of Dalmasca. For her people, she would have to forfeit her personality. She would be a kind and benevolent ruler who would bear many sons and daughters, and who would be content watching others have all that she could not. With bitter spite she thought of how feverishly her father fought for her to have the life she desired. With his death, so too did her life end. Now she began a new one, not as Princess Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca, a warrior who fought to the end for her country; but as Queen Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca, a woman who sat atop a throne and smiled for the public.

And all the while, she knew Basch would be there. As her Captain of the Dalmascan Order of Knights, and nothing more. He would watch her grow from a woman to a queen to a wife to a mother, forever there as a reminder of the life she left behind. He would talk with her, but only on matters of war and battle, and she would have be to content that they'd have the opportunity to talk at all. The idle hours she'd waste away in dull banter with her husband, whom she doubted would be very interested in anything she'd have to say anyway. Somehow, the past queens of Dalmasca all met similar fates, and she wondered why she'd ever thought she'd be any exception.

Ashe was at an utter loss for what to do. The battle with Archadia drew nearer, she knew, and not months would pass before she'd reclaim her throne. Vayne would die, through one means or another, and she would crowned queen of Dalmasca. The kingdom would be restored, and her people joyous. She would put smiles back on the faces of children and adults alike and a great celebration would be had. And still, Basch would be there, solemn and gruff as usual. He would not dance. He would not sing. He would only watch as she slipped farther away into a shadow of her former self.

It was strange to think she feared becoming queen. Even after her father died and Dalmasca was conquered, she sought her title with vigor. She embraced the day she could be called Queen Ashelia, savior of Dalmasca. Now she trembled at the thought. The invocations had never before struck her as they did now, and she feared terribly for what might ensue in the years to come.

Still, no matter what the future held, she would have to endure it with a smile. She would do so for her husband, who loved her even in death. She would do so for her father, whose legacy would live on in the hearts of her people for decades to come. She would do so for country, whose denizens' spirits had grown heavy with oppression. But, above all, she would not do it for herself.

Queen Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca, savior of her country and restorer of peace, would never again do anything for herself.


	11. Marriage to her Country

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the late update. I was away all week at camp, working eighteen hour days. It was all menial labor, but the food was delicious and I made many friends. I may add an in-between chapter... in between these two chapters eventually, but not very soon. My apologies! Now, time for the real question... is this the end? Read on to find out!

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"Marriage to her Country"

The whole situation felt ethereal. Ashe could hardly believe it had all happened so quickly: Vayne's defeat, Archadia's surrender, Dalmasca's autonomy. The entire encounter seemed but a dream of a dream to her, though she had been there for all of it. And now here she stood, in a church in front of an unbelievable gathering of people, about to be crowned queen of Dalmasca.

Ashe nearly felt like vomiting from anxiety. Instead, she glanced around and sought reassurance in the eyes of her friends, all standing opposite her on the altar. There was Vaan, the plucky pickpocket who dreamt of being a sky pirate, and who had helped her to find answers. There was Penelo, the kind-hearted girl who kept Vaan in line (most of the time), and who always put the concerns of others before hers. Next to her was Balthier (looking rather smug), the charming sky pirate with an eye for treasure and an even more astute eye for trouble. Beside him was Fran, his viera partner and an incredible warrior, whose finely tuned senses saved them all more than once.

And then, of course, there was Basch. He looked upon her earnestly, with some sense of pride and relief in his normally cold eyes. Of course he was happy: this was not only her crowning, it was also his repentance. She quickly averted her gaze, though his image stuck in her mind even as she surveyed the crowd of people gathered in the pews. She knew they would all gather there again someday for her wedding. Basch would as well, but only as a guard to stand watch for anyone brave enough to foil the ceremony. Something inside her felt that anyone who wanted to foil her eventual wedding was more than welcome to.

Unable to resist, she looked at him again. He had not taken his eyes off her. He was especially handsome, with his hair brushed back and draped in the finest clothes Rabanastre had to offer. She suddenly felt like crying. The crown about to be placed atop her head symbolized two things: the freedom of Dalmasca, and the imprisonment of Ashe. She wanted to scream, and she wanted to offer the title to someone else. Imagining herself yelling, "So, who else wants to do it?" in the middle of a crowded church was almost laughable.

Yet, more than anything, she wanted Basch to come up there and kiss her. Because then she knew that, at the very least, she would not be alone. She could stand being queen if it meant she could be with him, even if it was only via secret trysts behind her husband's back. She would happy with that. It was selfish, she knew, but she could grant herself that one guilty desire. If only Basch would grant it for her.

Awakened from her thoughts, she felt a weight on top of her head. Had she just been crowned? Ashe blushed profusely as cheers rang through the church; she'd missed it. She looked around to see her friends hopping to and fro, laughing. Basch did no such thing, but only stood and smiled, and regarded her like he would a true queen.

The need for him suddenly swelled in her heart and burst. All at once, Ashe realized she had never wanted him. She had _needed_ him. She needed him to hold her in the Garamsythe Waterway as they lay slowly dying. She needed him to be awakened by her kiss and no one else's. She needed him to undo her robe, to show her that he wanted her. She needed him to kiss her, to take her, to rescue her from this frightening world of inevitability. Because she was a princess and he was her knight.

But now she was a queen. She was Queen Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca, savior of her kingdom, restorer of peace… and she was in love with Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg, savior of her kingdom, but not of her. He would not rush up those few small steps and embrace her, and tell her that he wanted her, needed her, loved her. He would not kiss her lips and tell her not to worry. He would only stand and smile and think how, in all this chaos and clamor, he was absolved.

She wanted to march right down and slap him. But she knew that was not a queenly thing to do, and instead stood and stared. She suddenly realized she wasn't smiling, and quickly righted herself. She noted the occasion, the air and the atmosphere for future reference of Queen Ashelia's first forced smile. She hoped it was convincing, and only prayed she was strong enough to make it believable while she was breaking inside.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Vaan rush over to Basch. He talked excitedly, and she could almost laugh at how obviously Basch merely humored him. Vaan suddenly pointed at Ashe, who waved in response. With that open hand she waved, but she'd much rather have used it to strike Basch across the face.

Turning to the rest of the church, she managed to curtsy in the stiff gown she was dictated to wear. The crowd cheered and hooted, and confetti flew everywhere. A band struck up, music flooding the air. Ashe was escorted outside to a balcony where all of Rabanastre could see her. Their cheers flooded her ears, ecstatic. Vaan, Penelo, Balthier, Fran, and Basch all followed, standing near the railing of the balcony and looking out.

That day, Ashe shed a single tear. To the people of Rabanastre, it was a tear of joy and relief. It was a selfless tear that she graced them with, that she shed emotion especially for them. It was a tear containing boundless hope and possibility; a tear of restoration and of salvation. A tear with which to protect them from harm. To Queen Ashelia B'nagrin Dalmasca, it was a single tear of loss, the only she'd ever shed until the day she died. It was a tear not only for herself, but also for Captain Basch fon Ronsenburg, the second man she'd loved and lost.


	12. Shield and Crown

**Old Author's Note:** Oh – My – Jesus. Okay, it's 4:19 AM, and I wrote this entire fic in one evening. _One._ I can't hold my head up. I'm serious, I honestly can't. It keeps falling to the side, like I'm some sort of animate Raggedy Anne doll. That's how tired I am. But I stayed up to finish this, damn it, and finish it I did! Yeah, there goes my head again. To the right this time. Sometimes it's to the left. **I'm going to bed now.**

**New Author's Note:** I figured what better day to submit the final chapter than... April Fool's! (This isn't a joke, though. It really is the last one.) For those of you hoping the previous chapter was the kicker, feel free to ignore this one. I'd appreciate it if you to read it anyway, regardless. I'd like to thank everyone who read and reviewed this story, both for their patience and understanding. It may be a long while before I write any more FFXII fanfiction (other than "Genocite Dagger"), but if and when I do, I hope you'll hop on the super special awesome bandwagon again. Once more, thank you, and I hope this appeases! Welcome to the official conclusion of "From Want to Need"!

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"Shield and Crown"

Weeks passed by quickly after Ashe's crowning, but it all still felt surreal. She quickly adapted to the responsibilities owed to her by her title, and was forced to make multiple appearances in public. After all, the morale of Rabanastre could not be restored in a single day. She spent much time correcting the wrongs done unto Dalmasca by Archadia, and had begun with the restoration of the lives of those forced to live in Lowtown. Of course, some had insisted on staying, while others were only all too happy to leave.

Exhausted, Ashe staggered to her quarters. Once there, she made the long trek to the bed, and was amazed she had forgotten how enormous the palace bedrooms were. Collapsing onto her duvet, she nearly let sleep claim her when a knock sounded at her door. Groaning, she slid off the bed and made her way over, barely able to stand. Unlocking the door and pulling it open, she was shocked to see the newly-appointed commander of Dalmasca's Order of Knights standing before her.

"Commander fon Ronsenburg," she said slowly, now wide awake.

He nodded, though he loathed the way she called him that. Such formal addresses felt like hot wax in his ears. "Please, your Majesty, do not call me commander."

"Then I insist you do not call me 'your Majesty'," she replied.

He nodded, and some moments of uncomfortable silence passed between them. Sleep ebbed through Ashe's mind once more, begging to be heeded. She yawned, completely unsure of what to say. "Yes?" she asked.

"Pardon my sudden intrusion," he said, "but I had need to speak with you."

"Of what, Basch?" she wondered. "Do not tell me Archadia's feeling spirited again."

"Nothing of the sort," he assured hurriedly.

"Then can it not wait until morning?" Ashe leaned against the doorframe, thoroughly fatigued and feeling no need to impress him with queenly etiquette. "It does not seem to be a matter of great importance."

"It is," he interjected rather quickly.

"Oh?" she said, barely able to keep her eyes open. "Can you not speak of it to one of your captains? I'm sure they're as adept at battle strategy as you or I."

"It is not about a battle," he told her, sounding somewhat exasperated.

"Then what in the gods' names is it?" she hissed. "You may not know it, but being a queen is very tiring, and if you don't tell me right now I might as well be dead walking!"

"My apologies," he said quickly. "I had not realized…"

She waved a hand airily. "Please, do not apologize. Tell me what it is you must tell me, for the bed is beckoning me and I haven't the heart to deny myself the few precious hours of sleep I do get."

Basch bowed his head, and again silence passed between them. Ashe had half a mind to close the door and be done with him when he said, "I had hoped… that we could start with this."

Eyebrows perking, Ashe was in no mood for cryptic statements. "With what?"

Without a word, Basch placed a hesitant hand on the back of her neck and pulled her toward him. Her chest pressed against his, his hand at the small of her back, Ashe felt thoroughly awakened. Slowly, he leaned down and his pressed his lips softly to hers. Eyes fluttering closed, she returned the kiss with like gentleness, wrapping her arms around his neck to subtly pull him closer.

Unexpectedly, the kiss deepened, and she realized then that this was the first he had truly meant. Feeling his heart pound against her own, she felt an ethereal ecstasy course through her veins as she raveled her hands in his hair, pulling him towards her and wanting to never again let go. By the necessity of oxygen, they were forced to separate, and Ashe was left breathless and needing more. Her heart soared at the sight of his swollen lips, his eyes filled with some adoration she had never seen before.

"Please forgive me," he told her, pulling her closer to him and placing another light kiss on her lips, then one on her nose and another on her forehead. The sincere action was enough to make her melt. "I need you."

Ashe blinked back tears, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him towards her until, by physical limitations, he could be no closer. "Thank you," she whispered, feeling hope and happiness flood her heart. She nestled her face in the nape of his neck, reveling in his scent, and cried. She couldn't see, but she knew he was smiling.

"You're welcome," he said, wrapping reassuring arms around her, "Ashe."


End file.
